I Can't Believe It: I Don't Hate the Camaro Anymore
The first time I got into
the new Camaro, the 2010 model year that would herald the return of the
storied muscle car, I knew we weren't going to get along. Call it a
personality clash, like the friend of a friend who everyone else thinks
is really cool—but whom you can barely stand.
The
Camaro's manual transmission and the V8 power should have signaled the
beginnings of a wonderful bromance. Instead, the low roof felt like it
was crashing down upon my head. The sightlines were lousy and the
massive blind spots in the rear made changing lanes dicey.
Form ran rampant over function. The Camaro looked cool, but at great expense to the occupants. Frankly, it irked me.
Still,
I had hopes for its performance, and I took the brand-new Chevy to a
favorite path of tangled asphalt, my own private hill climb. I soon
liked it even less. The car was big and heavy. It was impossible to see
the edges of the fenders or gauge what the front tires were doing. The
front was Novocain numb, the feedback from the road as fuzzy as an AM
radio station in the middle of Texas. The suspension had apparently been
set up by GM legal, as it defaulted to a persistent, maddening
understeer.
I
was sure the car would be a dismal sales failure. Consumers would head
for the Mustang in droves. I couldn't have been more wrong. Sales
rocketed and fans swooned. Which left me as an outlier among friends and
colleagues as the Man Who Hates the Camaro.
So, with the all-new generation being released, I had to wonder: Could I
learn to love the Camaro? Because the changes sounded pretty good. A
new, lighter platform and a body that was lower, shorter and narrower.
But still, that roof . . .
As winter waned I had an SS model
delivered to my garage. I walked around it and found my head nodding.
It was the same but different. The changes weren't clear in the way,
say, a 996 911 looked different from the 997. But it was more
approachable, more agreeable. More better.
In truth, my serious dislike of the Camaro had weakened to something
like a significant aversion, a change attributable to the ZL1 and Z/28
models. I semi liked the ZL1. It had gobs of power and was a far
livelier, more nuanced drive over the SS. Still, I kept comparing it to a
sister model, the C6 Corvette ZR1.
I love that car. I'd driven it at the so-called Lutz Ring at GM's
Milford Proving Grounds, and it was everything I wanted in an American
sports car. Sharp, fast, and tuned.
Chevrolet
The Z/28 simply had to be respected. It was bonkers, the ultimate
expression of a fundamentally flawed car. Chevy engineers had gone all
out, giving it rubber so slick that the car would spin like a dreidel if
you hadn't warmed up the tires sufficiently. But once you had, you
could push it harder and harder and it kept on giving. It dared you to
be great with it. It was delightful in its lunacy. But of course, you
still couldn't see the damn fenders and it was hard to tell how close
you were to clipping a curb and there was, still, that roof.
The 2016 Camaro rides on the GM Alpha platform, just like the excellent
Cadillac ATS. And the SS shares the 6.2-liter V8 with the superlative
C7 Corvette, along with smart details like rev-matching on the manual
that can be turned on/off using shifter paddles and the flat-bottom
steering wheel. (Yes, I really like the Corvette, but no, I was not a
'Vette guy until the C6 made me so. Older 'Vettes are too gaudy and full
of plastic, but the evolution in quality and drivability is undeniable
and a real achievement.)
My test car was the 2SS model
with $3800 of options, so it was the best of everything and not
inexpensive at $46,095. But the interior was a huge step forward. Slick,
in a good way, with a modern layout that makes it a far more pleasing
place to be. The kitschy, useless engine gauges in front of the shifter
are gone, and the stitching and some materials look moderately
expensive.
The interior was a huge step forward. Slick, in a good way.
Chevrolet
The roof and high beltline and blind spots are still a problem, but
they've been massaged. Maybe it's my imagination, but I felt like I
could see out the front better than before, and the overall effect is
less like that of a cell in a Federal Supermax prison.
Driving a car is a subjective experience. I knew the Camaro had lost a
good 300 pounds and that the suspension had been reworked. But from the
moment I pulled out of the garage, it just felt better. More natural and
confident; happier at speed and certainly far more elegant around
corners.
Most of my
time in the SS was on wet roads in low temperatures, which forced me to
use the 455 horsepower and 455 pound-feet of torque judiciously. I
tiptoed up to the limits of adhesion on slick corners—and just the fact
that I could suss those limits was a major stride forward. And the
optional Magnetic Ride Control was, as ever, a welcome addition.
And when I wanted to get silly, the car was ready for it, all gruff V8
basso rumble and spinning rear wheels. It might be more sprightly, but
it's still a muscle car, and that's a good thing. I'd like to spend more
time with it in the summer months. And that's a stride forward, too.
Then,
last week at the New York International Auto Show, Chevy showed us both
the ZL1 coupe and convertible. And as I walked around it, with its
massive lower maw, I felt the first real stirrings. Not of aversion or
even grudging acceptance. But of want.
The new generation is no longer a fundamentally flawed machine. Which
means the ZL1 and the sure-to-arrive Z/28 could be very special indeed.
